


A Late Autumn Wind

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 10 in 10, Established Relationship, M/M, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:25:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feeling cold, Stiles and Derek set out to warm up a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Late Autumn Wind

**Author's Note:**

> written to dogeared's prompt for cold bundling, something fallish, with kisses.

"Is it a good sign or a bad sign when a werewolf has a cold nose?" asks Stiles, rubbing his own nose against the tip of Derek's. They've been out walking in the woods despite the chill in the air, weathering the bite of a late autumn wind. Stiles is bundled in even more layers than usual; Derek has a soft red scarf around his neck. Neither of them has made a move to take off anything since they got back inside the loft.

"Depends," says Derek, and his breath is warm against Stiles' chilled skin. 

"On what?" asks Stiles, nosing against Derek's cheek. It's scratchy and pink from cold.

"On who's asking," Derek murmurs, brushing his lips across Stiles'. "And why."

"Me," says Stiles, stealing another kiss. "And because I might want to make sure you're warm. Everywhere."

Derek slips a hand to cup Stile's ass, pulls him in close. "I'm pretty warm," he says, and his tone of voice is absolutely filthy. Stiles likes it a lot.

"Maybe we should take this someplace less vertical," Stiles offers, nipping at Derek's bottom lip. "More flat surfaces."

"Maybe," says Derek and tilts his head, kisses Stiles slowly, all wet mouth and firm tongue. Stiles makes a noise he will deny is a whimper if anyone asks, lets Derek push into the kiss, lets Derek bend him backward just a little, one hand splayed at the small of Stiles' back. Stiles winds his arms around Derek's shoulders, slides one hand up over Derek's scarf and into his hair, drags blunt fingernails over the nape of Derek's neck just to feel him shiver.

"Shivering's bad," Stiles says breathlessly. "Hypothermia could be setting in."

Derek shifts them both, angles Stiles' thigh between his own and rocks his hips forward. "Like I said," he offers, as if Stiles can't feel how hard he is, "I'm pretty warm."

"It's me, then," says Stiles. "I'm probably confused from the cold."

Derek smiles a little, bends to kiss Stiles again, distracts him with his clever mouth. "Maybe," Derek agrees, and he slips his hands inside Stiles' jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. Stiles tugs at Derek's scarf, lets it unravel and fall away.

"I bet your bed is warm" says Stiles conversationally, teasing at Derek's jaw with his teeth. Derek's jacket falls on the floor.

Derek lets out an unsteady breath. "You think?" he says, stripping Stiles out of one of his shirts.

"About your bed? Only all the time," Stiles offers, nipping at Derek's ear. "Just then."

"Hmmm," Derek breathes, then he's tugging Stiles toward his bed, cold hands a shock against Stiles' belly as he tugs at another shirt. Stiles hums to show his approval of this development, tries to get close enough to nip at Derek's ear, gets pushed down on the bed for his trouble. Derek crawls over him, crowds Stiles' against the mattress, holds him there with his body.

"Warmer?" Derek asks.

"I don't know," Stiles says. "Feel like I won't be able to tell for a while."

"Give me thirty seconds," Derek offers, his smile delighted and wicked in equal measure, and Stiles has to pull him back into a kiss.

"I hear skin to skin contact is essential," Stiles says, pushing at Derek's sweater, pleased when Derek sits back on his knees to tug it over his head. Stiles struggles out of his own t-shirt, mumbles a thank you when Derek helps, and then they're chest to chest, and Derek's rolling them to their sides, hooking a leg over Stile's thigh, kissing him with a slow, steady fervor that has Stiles' dick throbbing uncomfortably in his pants. "Oh god," Stiles manages, sliding a hand between them to undo Derek's jeans. 

"How are you feeling now?" Derek asks, bucking up into Stile's hands.

"Warm," Stiles says as he sits up to tug Derek's jeans away, muddles through taking of his own pants and shorts.

"Come here," Derek says, reaching for him, tugging him back in close. The touch of skin against skin has Stiles gasping.

"Oh, I am definitely not cold," he mumbles as Derek pushes him onto his back, rubs himself against Stiles' hip. "Definitely."

"Shhh," Derek says, following the suggestion with a long, lazy kiss that has Stile's spine fusing with the mattress, and his hands are clumsy as he reaches for Derek. They fit together, hip to hip, and Stiles sweeps his hands down Derek's back, palms his ass, making Derek shudder and gasp.

"You shhh," Stiles says unsteadily, sliding a finger between Derek's ass cheeks, ghosting it over his hole.

"Fuck," Derek gasps against Stile's neck; his hips snap forward and he picks up speed. Stiles can feel the slide of their bodies get easier, pre-come leaking between them; there's enormous pressure building low in his body, and sharp, bright pleasure sparking at every thrust of Derek's hips. Stiles feels restless, wanting to touch Derek everywhere, wanting to come, wanting this to last. It feels like all the blood in his body is pooling in his dick; he's dizzy with it, with the scent of Derek so close; his sweat.

"You should know, I like you a lot," he says, kissing Derek as best he's able, their mouths parted, breath damp. 

Derek's eyes flutter closed and Stiles feels him shudder, his hips stuttering before they ease back into a steadier rhythm. "Like you, too," Derek manages, and when he opens his eyes they're a bright, steady blue, making Stiles gulp in air. This really works for him. Really, really works.

"Fuck, come on," he says, hooking a hand around Derek's neck, balls tightening as Derek fucking _growls_ , and when Derek scrapes sharp, pointed teeth against Stiles' throat he comes with a jerk and shudder, his whole body bucking up into Derek's warm, warm body, Derek pushing back against him, coming too.

It's a long time before Stiles feels like he can speak again. His hands recover long before his speech – he runs his fingers down Derek's arm, up his back, and Derek shifts to one side, leaves a leg hooked over Stiles' thigh. "That," Stiles manages, "was awesome," and he shivers as Derek brushes a thumb over one nipple, spreads his fingers above Stiles' heart.

"We should get cold more often," Derek mumbles, and Stiles reaches for the sheet, scrubs at his belly, whines as Derek takes it from him and swipes at his own. He makes a small, contented sound when Derek slumps back down beside him.

"I can do this anytime," Stiles says around a yawn. "Rain, sleet, snow, sun . . ."

Derek lifts his head and looks at him, amused. "Good to know," he offers, and leans in to kiss him.

Stiles hums into the kiss. "Your nose," he says, when Derek pulls away. "It's still cold."

And Derek smiles at him, says, "I guess you'll have to try again," making Stiles groan and swat at him, making Derek laugh and curl in close, leaving both of them smiling and drowsy as the wind blows cold outside.


End file.
